Musings of a Capitalist Pig
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: Summary: Piercing the veil that is Chuck Fishman.


Musings of a Capitalist Pig  
  
Summary: Piercing the veil that is Chuck Fishman.  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.  
  
Author's Notes: Recent group discussions about Chuck inspired me to write this very short story. And to Janet whose comments about "The Choice" got me excited to watch the episode again recently and to add it to my weekly viewing and discussions. Incentive is so important g.  
  
Author: Tracy Diane Miller E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com  
  
Musings of a Capitalist Pig  
  
My name is Chuck Fishman and I admit it, I love money. What's wrong with that? And before you look at me with shock and disgust, there's nothing wrong with loving money. I mean, our Founding Fathers supported the free enterprise system. You might even say that they strongly encouraged it. What do you think that The Declaration of Independence meant when it talked about "inalienable rights and the pursuit of happiness"? Those old guys may have been long-winded with all those flowery words, but I know that they had money on their minds when they wrote that. It's the American Dream you know, being rich. To be able to do anything you want, whenever you want, without some tyrant of a boss running your life and paying you peanuts for the privilege of daily misery...ah... that's the life. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. I tell you, I was born to be rich. So why is it that a guy who has absolutely no interest in money ends up being in a position to make all the money in the world? How unfair is that? I must have been cursed.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I love Gary. He's my best bud. But I just don't understand him. Maybe he was dropped on his head when he was baby. People dream of winning the lottery all the time. A person will stand in a long line surrounded by obnoxious people and spend his last dollar for the chance at being rich. Gary has that paper. He can be rich. Instead, he keeps saying that The Paper wouldn't want that. Like he thinks that The Paper would get mad at him or something. Ever since I've known Gary he's never taken advantage of his blessings so to speak. In college he could have had any woman he wanted. Here he was this tall, good-looking guy. He was like a co-ed magnet. Gar collected so many phone numbers from women that he could have been directory assistance. I know for a fact that his name was written on the bathroom in the girls' dormitory along with some colorful commentary about him. How do I know that? Well, let's just say that college was a wild and crazy time and I ended up in some strange places. But Gar was so into Genie that he passed up all those invitations with other girls. Gar was the only guy on campus who lived like a monk. And when Genie broke up with him, he was so hurt that he sulked for weeks. Then he met Marcia and he...okay, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here. Let me back track. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was just about to tell you how I tried to get Gary to loosen up, to enjoy his college experience. That's how I talked him into joining a fraternity. Actually, Gary joined the fraternity more on a dare than anything else.  
  
We were sitting around in our dorm room one night when the phone rang. Gary went to pick it up and from the tortured expression on his face, I knew that had to mean one thing: His mom was the caller. Lois is great, but she is so overprotective when it comes to Gary. I think that she forgets that he's a grown man and not some little boy who needs his mommy around every minute. Anyway, I couldn't hear all of Lois' end of the conversation, but I heard Gary assure her that he was eating a balanced diet. I smirked at him as I pointed to the box of cold pizza that we had been sharing. Then she insisted that he come home during spring break. Gary rubbed his hand across the back of his neck trying to figure out how to get out of his Mom's invitation. I reached for the phone. After exchanging pleasantries with Lois, I told her that I couldn't help but overhear her ask Gary about coming home during break. Pouring on the old Fishman charm (I should patent my charm to share it with the less fortunate), I added that it was my fault that Gary couldn't come home during break. When Lois asked why, I told her that I signed Gary up for a "community project" and that he had important obligations to fulfill as a result of that project. Gary stared at me with a puzzled expression. There was a pause in my conversation with Lois. Lois seemed disappointed, but she said that she was proud of both of us. Then she indicated that she wanted to talk with Gary again. Gary took the phone. He shifted back and forth uncomfortably before he promised his mom that he would eat well and dress warmly. Then he hung up the phone. He asked me about the "community project" that we were signed up for. I told him that we were going to pledge a fraternity. He protested. I told him that I wanted to share the experience with my best bud and besides, he wouldn't want his mom to know that we had lied (okay, I lied, but he agreed so it was the same difference) and he didn't want to go home during break anyway. Reluctantly, Gary agreed to pledge. We did some nutty things as pledges. If Lois knew half the things that Gary and I did, she would...well, she'll never know. I would never want to get Gar in trouble with his mom.  
  
Classes, studying, and partying seemed to help Gary deal with his break up with Genie. The guy was doing so well when it happened. Disaster walked into his life. A five foot four, one hundred pound, arrogant, brunette disaster with a beauty mole. Marcia Roberts. What Gary ever saw in Marcia is beyond me. Marcia and Gary were like caviar and hot dogs. Marcia was caviar, a delicacy that was above the tastes of the average Joe. I think that was the way Marcia wanted it. That way she could preserve her delusion of grandeur. Marcia always strutted around like she was better than everyone else. But Gary...Gary was as All-American as you could get. He was hot dogs, baseball, and apple pie. Even before The Paper, he'd be the guy who'd give you his last buck. What you see was what you got with Gary. He didn't play games. I don't think that he even knew how to play games even if he wanted to. Sure, he lies. He's not perfect, but knowing him he probably feels guilty about the whole lying thing and between you and me, he's not very good at it anyway.  
  
The handwriting was on the wall. Even before they were married, Marcia wanted to change Gary into an image that was "acceptable" by her standards. I remember her forcing him to dress up so that they could go to the opera and the ballet. The opera and the ballet. Can you imagine? Here was a guy who was into the Cubs and the Bears not Madame Butterfly and Swan Lake. Still, Gar submitted to the humiliation of being dressed up like a penguin and choking on culture just to please Marcia. That had to be love. Or, maybe insanity. Gary was the one always giving in that relationship while Marcia was always taking. She knew that he liked baseball, but never once did she agree to go to a game, to do what he wanted to do.  
  
That was the way their marriage was, too. Gary gave and Marcia took. Gary became a stockbroker so they'd have the money for Marcia to go to law school. I remember him telling me that once Marcia made it as a lawyer they would be able to start their family. I'm still trying to figure out why Gary believed that Marcia wanted to have a baby anyway. As vain as she was I couldn't see her willingly becoming pregnant, gaining weight. Getting up in the middle of the night with a screaming infant and changing diapers? Marcia? No way. I could have predicted that their marriage was doomed to fail since they wanted different things, but I hoped, for Gary's sake that I was wrong.  
  
But I wasn't.  
  
I knew that Marcia was a cold woman, but kicking her husband out of the house on their wedding anniversary, changing the locks and tossing his suitcase out of the window, that gave a new definition to the word cold. I guess it is true about lawyers having ice water instead of blood flowing through their veins. What, you never heard that one? Well, how about the one about lawyers and sharks and professional courtesy? See a shark won't attack a lawyer because...never mind. Let me get back to my story.  
  
So there's poor Gar in a hotel room and he still worrying about whether Marcia is all right. She hung up on him and he was thinking about her well being. He wanted to talk things through, work out their problems. The time for talking had ended, but he wouldn't admit that to himself. That guy can be so stubborn. Marcia was talking all right, but not to Gar. She was talking to the process server. Poor guy.  
  
I knew that Gary was hurting and I didn't want to be insensitive, but I hated seeing him pining over Marcia. There were a lot of fish in the sea without him pining over a piranha. I mean, a good-looking guy like him with that "aw shucks" thing that women go crazy over; the possibilities are endless. Okay, so he lives in a dump but he has The Paper. He just needs to learn how to use it to its maximized potential. And I'm not talking about 15 grand for a dog. That was a nice thing to do and I don't begrudge Marissa that dog, but Gar needed to do something for Gar. And maybe, if he was feeling generous anyway, he could do something for, you know, me, his best bud.  
  
I love money. I admit that. I guess that it's like an addiction with me. But there are worse things to be addicted to. But just because I love money doesn't mean that I don't know how to be a good friend. I worry about Gary. I want him to be happy. I want him to enjoy life. Ever since he got The Paper he runs around the city helping other people, giving them a life. And what does he get for his troubles? Physical and verbal abuse. What kind of life is that? I still think that Gar should use The Paper to buy a tropical island somewhere far from the craziness of this city. He could make himself a king or something, surround himself with gorgeous women willing to fulfill his every whim. Okay, so that's my fantasy, but it's better than waking up to a meow.  
  
You may call me a capitalist pig. You may think that I'm sexist. And maybe I do whine and complain a lot. What can I tell you? That's my MO. But Gar knows that when the chips are down, I've got his back. He knows that I'll always be there for him even after he threw all my money off that bank rooftop (talk about trauma) and flushed my goldfish Sparky down the toilet (poor little guy). I will always be there for Gar. We will always be best buds.  
  
Friendship. Hey, I am rich after all.  
  
The End. 


End file.
